


voices and names

by peakgay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay/pseuds/peakgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza Hamilton strokes the side of his face and draws Burr into a warm kiss.</p><p>She isn’t as demanding as her husband. Her tongue drags along his bottom lip and Burr opens his mouth for her, shuddering as her thin nails scrape gently across his neck.</p><p>“Come to bed with me, it’s getting late,” she says, so close to his lips, her warm breath still there. The sun is properly setting down, sinking, leaving no shadows casted across the floor or the bed. Hamilton is still, and Burr listens to Eliza, who tugs him into the bed - large, extravagant, God, Burr thinks, easily large enough for three bodies - making way with his clothes. She doesn’t spare a look at her husband, and Burr shivers again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	voices and names

**Author's Note:**

> Implied/Referenced Cheating tag exists because Theodosia Prevost is alive and included.  
> Also mentioned: Illness (Theodosia being sick), guilt over cheating  
> Theodosia Burr also makes an appearance at the very end  
> past Hamilton/Laurens is implied - Laurens' death is briefly mentioned
> 
> (ps. merry christmas to those who celebrate. this is for y'all.)

He tugs sharply at Hamilton’s hair, shuddering as Hamilton’s mouth slides off his cock and he looks up at Burr with slick lips.

The thought has crossed his mind before, but for whatever reason, Burr finds himself sharing. “What would Eliza say if she knew?” His voice is hoarser than even he had expected, and as he rests his head against the wall in his bedroom, Hamilton chuckles.

Shaking his head, Hamilton then wraps his fingers around the base of Burr’s cock and sucks on the head.

Burr shivers, threading his fingers back through Hamilton’s hair. He’s happy for the question to be taken as rhetorical - the answer he’s sure to receive, otherwise, would only increase the shame he already senses.

Then Hamilton slides off him again and kisses his stomach, warm breath over Burr’s skin where the buttons of his shirt are undone and the fabric pushed aside. Burr keeps his hand tight in Hamilton’s hair and looks down at him, frowning.

“She knows,” Hamilton says after a pause, pressing his nose to Burr’s hipbone and then taking his cock in his mouth again. Burr hisses out a curse and presses Hamilton closer. It’s a strange, pleasant, tingling torture, one that Burr thought he would be used to by now with the number of times they’ve played this game since the war. 

But now, the words cling to the corners of Burr’s brain, and they resonate and he gives one final, sharp tug to Hamilton’s hair as Hamilton hums, moans, flattens his tongue against the underside of Burr’s cock and sucks. Burr shuts his eyes, rolls his hips into a rhythm, and comes with a broken half-shout, still digging his fingers into the roots of Hamilton’s too-long hair.

As Burr grounds himself again, world spinning, Hamilton tucks him into his breeches and adjusts Burr’s buttons, sighing as he stands.

“I thought you realized,” Hamilton says, cupping Burr’s jaw. Burr opens his eyes and watches Hamilton, who bites his own bottom lip and smiles. “Eliza has always known.”

“And your wife is happy that you lay with other men?” Burr says, scoffing.

Hamilton hums. “She has been an active participant in the past. We have a steady agreement.”

Burr’s stomach sinks. He knows little of Elizabeth Schuyler - now Hamilton - and has only met her twice, once on occasion of visiting Hamilton’s house to exchange legal documents. He remembers she had smiled, shooed her son and daughter up the stairs and said, “Mr. Burr, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“She knows,” he says, resting his head against the wall. Hamilton has turned away from him now, as he adjusts his waistcoat and looks for a mirror to pull his hair back. His face flushes with the sudden realization. “There have been others?”

Hamilton glances back over at Burr and lets out a little breath. “Not recently,” he says, but there’s hesitation in his voice. He licks his lips, shakes his head. “Not since…”

Burr closes his eyes again. “Laurens,” he says after a sustained silence.

“You’re more observant than I thought,” Hamilton says, chuckling. “Yes, his death…” He pauses.

Burr finally pushes himself away from the wall. He approaches his desk and grips the back of the chair, breathing steadily before he sits. When he looks at Hamilton, there’s a certain anxiety in his expression.

“I have not brought anyone to Eliza since. She is kept...aware, however. There hasn’t been anyone I wanted - I wanted to bring.”

“I understand, Alexander,” Burr says, nodding and looking back at his desk. Hamilton hovers, hesitates and stares at Burr. 

“I would - I would ask you, to spend some time over...in our residence.” Hamilton clears his throat, continues to look at Burr, unblinking. 

“You would?” Burr says, meeting Hamilton’s gaze. 

“Unless...well, you have no reason to dislike Eliza, but I understand if it’s - asking too much.”

Burr clears his throat. “I would - I would be honored to meet your wife.” The words hang heavy, awkward in the space between them.

Then Hamilton nods, and Burr learns to stop trying to predict the future.

-

Eliza Hamilton is a bright, glowing presence in her home. Burr watches her fancy, billowing skirts, unbothered by hoops, in blue silk and velvet, ribbons tying the corset of it; elegant, without being exaggerated. She greets Alexander at the door with a soft kiss on the cheek, and she smiles at Burr, who takes her hand and presses a bare kiss to the back of it.

She laughs at that; his chest stirs.

“Mr. Burr,” she says as Hamilton takes off his jacket and steps over to the closet, pointedly avoiding looking at his wife or Burr. “I was just making dinner, if you’d like to join me?”

Burr goes still for a moment.

“Of course,” he says, and Eliza smiles at him and turns. He knows he’s to follow but he shoots a quick glance Hamilton’s way. Hamilton nods, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, and Burr shuffles down the hallway after Eliza.

The kitchen is warmer than the rest of the house, and he tugs at his waist jacket, hesitating for a moment before Alexander claps him on the shoulder. “Let me take your jacket, Burr,” he says, and there’s an unexplainable warmth in Hamilton’s voice that makes Burr shudder. He just nods and Hamilton folds his jacket and steps back out of the kitchen.

“Mr. Burr, could you please pass me two eggs?”

Burr does as he’s told, thinking that he had not expected this when he came to visit the Hamilton’s. Their home is quiet; unabiding, still, and Eliza looks at him like she’s one of her own.

They’re not his family, he knows this.

For a moment, he decides to pretend.

-

“The children are with Mr. Schuyler,” Hamilton explains later that night. He’s unbuttoning Burr’s vest, slowly working it off his chest. Burr blinks and looks at Eliza, her legs folded underneath her skirts on the bed. She’s watching them with bright eyes; the room is illuminated by candles and a lamp on Hamilton’s desk. The sunset is barely creeping through their window, casting orange over the bed.

Eliza Hamilton is gorgeous, and Burr looks back at Alexander - his loose hair, his deep-set eyes, his broad nose and open mouth - and thinks, well, so is he.

He rests his hands on Hamilton’s shoulders and Hamilton pauses, glances back to Burr, pursing his lips. Burr slides his hands over Hamilton’s sleeves and to his throat - then up to Hamilton’s jaw, tilting his head back. Hamilton moves easily, closes his eyes.

Then Burr kisses him; it’s the only thing he can think to do.

Alexander doesn’t hesitate, closing the distance between them. Their teeth click together but Burr is hungry; exhausted, frustrated, silent.

“Alexander.”

Hamilton pulls back with such force that he ends up pressing Burr hard against the wall. Burr sucks in a deep breath, and they both look at Eliza.

“Alexander,” she says again, softer this time. “Come here.”

There isn’t even a moment’s pause. He doesn’t look at Burr. He lets go and approaches his wife, kneeling at the bed in front of her. Burr's head starts to swim, the wine from earlier when they ate dinner edging in his mind.

“Aaron,” Eliza says, and Burr looks from Alexander’s back to Eliza, who then motions for him to come forward as well. He follows the same way Hamilton had, slow steps, and kneels at the edge of the bed, inches away from Hamilton. Hamilton stares at his wife, his eyes dark, his fingers clenching into the sheets tucked into the mattress.

She looks between them for a moment, smiling at Alexander before she looks at Burr. “Aaron,” she says again, and he shivers. His wife calls him that name; there is no one else he considers himself close enough to.

( _She’s been ill so often; so tired; she stays in bed and calls for him and reads to little Theodosia and she cries sometimes, and he kneels in front of her like this - holds her hand - whispers to her -_ )

Eliza Hamilton strokes the side of his face and draws Burr into a warm kiss.

She isn’t as demanding as her husband. Her tongue drags along his bottom lip and Burr opens his mouth for her, shuddering as her thin nails scrape gently across his neck.

“Come to bed with me, it’s getting late,” she says, so close to his lips, her warm breath still there. The sun is properly setting down, sinking, leaving no shadows casted across the floor or the bed. Hamilton is still, and Burr listens to Eliza, who tugs him into the bed - large, extravagant, God, Burr thinks, easily large enough for three bodies - making way with his clothes. She doesn’t spare a look at her husband, and Burr shivers again.

Her hands work fast, and he’s naked besides undergarments, breeches and stockings and waistcoat on the floor and she’s unlacing the front of her dress, tugging and pulling and he joins her, fumbling fingers and Eliza starts to laugh.

Burr can hear Alexander take a sharp breath as Eliza slips out of her dress. She’s beautiful, Burr thinks, staring at her chest and stomach. Her hips are marked from childbirth - her stomach as well - and Burr reaches out to run his thumbs along the scars. She giggles and pushes him gently back onto the bed. Burr goes willingly to his back, watching as Eliza shifts and straddles him over his hips.

“Aaron Burr,” she says, her voice still soft as she leans down to kiss him. “Will you do me the honor?”

“Of course,” he says, not even a split-second to keep him from answering her. She’s tugging off his underwear, laughing, and within that brief pause where Burr takes a deep breath, she’s taking him inside her, a hand between her legs, touching herself, breathing hard, eyes fluttering shut.

She’s beautiful, and Burr holds her hips if only to keep her steady. She controls the movement; slow at first, rocking her hips, gaining a rhythm. After a moment she's comfortable and he can tell because she’s smiling, and he can’t stop looking at her face, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip, her eyes half-lidded, her hair clinging to the sweat on her shoulders and her chest.

Burr remembers that Hamilton is still on the floor, watching them, and his hips jerk and he groans and she whispers his name, chokes it out and fucks herself harder, shaking and resting her hands on his shoulders. He’s pinned down, hands on her thighs now because her hips aren’t as close, and his stomach is coiling and the heat is building and Eliza is breathless over him, and then her voice turns into a mantra - _Alexander, Aaron - Alexander_ she gasps and Burr squeezes his eyes shut, holds everything back - he must if he wants to see her, her voice desperate, her hips falling down harder on his, it’s _enough_ , it’s everything, her husband’s name coming in hard gasps and then, “Aaron, please,” in a silken voice, and self-control was always his strong suit but he curses, thrusts up into her, sudden, erratic, tightness in his stomach and chest, fingers digging into her soft thighs, her nails clinging to his shoulders, her eyes squeezed shut, he watches her as he comes and then she laughs, slows down the rocking of her hips.

Burr twitches inside of Eliza and she kisses him on the mouth again, whispers, “Thank you,” and Burr blinks at her as she slides off of him - she calls to Alexander, he sees her husband crawl onto the bed - he’s naked now as well and Burr doesn’t recall that happening. Then Eliza is on her back and Alexander is the one inside of her, grinding his hips, fingers intertwined with his wife’s. 

Burr stares at the ceiling as they whisper each other’s names, kiss them into each other’s mouths.

“Aaron,” Eliza says, still breathless, and he glances at them. He had half-forgotten he was there. “Kiss my husband.”

Burr flinches at first, rolls onto his stomach, moves closer to them. Alexander doesn’t stop with his movement but he does turn his head to look at Burr, sweat-slick forehead, those bright goddamn eyes, and Burr gives in and kisses him and Alexander is groaning into his mouth and Eliza is laughing, and Burr thinks that’s when they both finally peak, Eliza’s head thrown back against a pillow, her dark hair everywhere, Alexander gripping the back of Burr’s neck at an awkward angle, dragging his hips, grinning into Burr’s mouth, gasping his wife’s name, gasping _Burr’s_ name.

Then they collapse, and it’s over before Burr realizes it, and Hamilton is naked between his wife and his rival in all things law, chuckling and smelling like sweat and sex.

Burr kisses Alexander’s shoulder, runs his thumb over a scar he’d never noticed on his chest. Eliza smiles at them both, reaches over to touch Burr’s jaw, and they make eye contact for a moment, Alexander still laughing softly, eyes closed.

He sees her mouth the words, her voice not even a whisper - “He’s at peace,” - and Burr nods, laying back down against their soft pillows and sheets.

-

He can’t stay the night, bids them farewell when the sun truly sets. He thinks about Hamilton watching them, thinks about their bodies close on the bed, something that had never happened before - they never stayed, never waited, when it was just the two of them. He thinks about Eliza with a throbbing in his chest, her voice echoing in his brain, and he goes home with his clothes slightly ruffled, reads little Theodosia a story before bed, and she laughs and says, “I can read it myself, Papa,” and he says, “Just let me, for tonight,” and she doesn’t complain further.

His wife sighs when she sees him but smiles, too, and he comes to bed with her after a bath, kisses her hair. “You’ve been so busy,” she says.

He chuckles, rubbing her shoulder. “You won’t notice it so much when you’re out of bed and feeling better,” he says.

Theodosia hums.

He cradles her in his arms as he falls asleep, Eliza’s laughter and Alexander’s kisses still vibrating across his skin.


End file.
